Runs In The Family

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “Driver ready.”

  “Comms ready.”

  “Gunner ready.”

  <>

  Mairin nodded and keyed the troop command frequency. “Guidons, guidons, guidons, this is Black Six. Engage all drop protocols at this time. Six out.” She rekeyed the radio with her bottom lip and switched to the Rhino’s frequency. “What’s the plan up there, Laura?”

  “Standard drop protocol. Looks like the regiment is dropping about thirty miles to the west of Libretto City. No idea what the mission is, expect a FRAGO on that any minute. I’ll push you what I’ve got.”

  Icons lit up on Mairin’s terminal and she nodded. “Got it. Any idea on our position in this mess?”

  “Negative, ma’am.”

  Mairin blinked. “We’re on private channel, right Laura?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then knock it off, okay? We’re good.”

  A sigh filled Mairin’s ears. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Now, see what you can do to get me some intelligence from the CIC. I’m going to brave the command frequency.”

  Conyers snorted a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t started drinking yet,” Mairin chuckled and made a wind-it-up gesture to Conners, who keyed Mairin’s frequencies over to the command net. She listened for a few seconds before calling Bullet Six, to no avail.

  Conner replied. “Private transmission inbound from Bullet Nine.”

  “Give it to me.” Mairin glanced at her terminal again.

  “Saber Six, Bullet Nine on private. You with me?”

  Mairin said, “Loud and clear, Sergeant Major.”

  “You probably don’t need this reminder, but there is an exception to every rule.” Trevayne chuckled in her ears. “You understand my meaning?”

  You mean to disobey that drunk asshole’s orders whenever I see fit? You’re damned right I do. “Roger that, Sergeant Major.”

  “Good. We have no plan right now. I doubt we’re going to have one before we drop.”

  Mairin shook her head. “Don’t we have a staff that’s supposed to plan shit like this?”

  “You and I both know most staff elements above a battalion level can’t plan their way out of a wet paper sack.” Trevayne sighed. “Besides, what we find on the ground is going to drive how we fight. It always does.”

  Mairin agreed. “Stay safe out there, Sergeant Major. Be ready to empty that canteen.”

  Trevayne chuckled. “We end up at the Green today, young Captain, and the first round is on me.”

  “Deal, Sergeant Major. Saber Six clear.”

  “Bullet Nine, out.”

  Mairin saw all of her vehicles were completely ready for drop and allowed herself a momentary pause. If this ends up being the end of the trail to Hell, it’s a good day to die. Wasn’t that from a movie? She shook the thought away. “Interface, what’s the weather over our projected drop zone?”

  <>

  Mairin almost laughed out loud and then nearly sobbed. Rain. Her heart ached for a long moment, with thoughts of rainy mornings sitting in Tally’s arms in the cabin, watching storms roll across the hills and over the lake. Holding hands in the rain. Kissing in the rain. Making love in the—

  <>

  “Roger, Interface.” Mairin sniffled a little and then strapped herself into the commander’s chair as tightly as possible. “Time to Libretto?”

  <>

  Mairin looked at her crew. “Anybody got anything they want to say right now?”

  For a moment no one said anything. Then Booker keyed his intercom from the hull. “Ma’am, I have something to say if you don’t mind.”

  “What is it, Booker?”

  “Well,” he paused as if trying to find words. “Ma’am? Y’all pack any extra clean underwear? I think I might need some in a minute.”

  Mairin’s mouth fell open and then she looked at Conner who began to laugh. The whole crew laughed as one and their tension melted away slightly. The joke took their focus and their stoicism right out the door. Exactly where it needed to go for a fleeting moment. They laughed until tears came from their eyes and their stomachs hurt. As the Ticonderoga slid effortlessly from foldspace into orbit around Libretto, they were able to recover themselves enough to prepare the Slammer for drop.

  <>

  Mairin chinned to the command frequency. “Thunder Six, Saber Six. Bay nine abort. Need a status update.”

  “Roger, Saber Six.” Garrett’s voice came with a private icon on her helmet visor, “Remember our late-night coffee and napkins exercise?”

  Mairin smiled. The man filled five napkins with notes. He wasn’t seriously going to do it, was he? “Roger, Thunder Six.”

  “Then be ready for it, Saber Six.”

  * * * * *

  Fifty-Three

  Admiral Nather debated with himself whether or not to go to the bridge and oversee the deployment of forces once the Ticonderoga left foldspace and entered orbit. Carefully tugging himself into a combat pressure garment in accordance with general quarters actions, Nather walked from his quarters and entered the bridge with customary fanfare from the officer of the deck.

  “Admiral on the bridge!”

  Nather looked around quickly. “Carry on.” Across the room, the captain of the Ticonderoga poured over the planet’s data as they approached at multiples of c. Where the platform would emerge from foldspace in relation to the planet’s rotation seemed to be the critical question, and showed his staff was doing all necessary to support the deployment of the TDF forces in accordance with their battle plan. Nather moved to his chair, sat down, and immediately noticed it was too quiet for the Ticonderoga to be less than a few minutes from orbit. Granted, the bridge of a combat vessel should not be chaotic, but quiet and calm just before battle seemed odd. No one twitched with nervous energy. No one seemed to be particularly worried about the big picture. Nather almost smiled to himself at the thought of stirring up his crew and snapped his fingers loud enough that half of the bridge turned to him.

  “Ops, I need to know the TDF drop plan. Who are we dropping where?”

  The operations officer stood and faced the Admiral. The brassy leaves of a lieutenant commander glinted in the light as he began to speak. “Sir, Lieutenant Commander Porterman. Sir, there is no drop plan from TDF. The only guidance we’ve received is to drop all forces immediately upon attaining orbit, regardless of position. All combat forces are to secure the immediate terrain and link up. TDF will then develop a plan based on the consolidation of forces on the ground.”

  Nather felt his mouth drop open involuntarily. “You’ve got to be shitting me, Commander.”

  “No, sir. That’s the guidance we received from TDF before reaching foldspace, sir.”

  We’re going to kill a lot of troops today for another half-assed operation against a superior enemy force on terrain of their choosing. Jesus Christ! Drop everybody wherever you can? Just like the goddamn gliders of Normandy, Nather thought with a shudder. He looked at the terrain projection of Libretto on the far wall. “Where is the greatest concentration of Grey forces? Are they holding any key terrain or limiting themselves to the cities?” There was silence on the bridge. “Anybody? Do we have any intelligence?”

  Nather allowed his eyes to flicker across the room, meeting the expectant gaze of every man and woman in the control center. No one spoke, and Nather felt heat rising from his tunic collar and threatening to take over his face. “Let me state for the record that I am not about to commit any forces without at least a semi-coherent plan from TDF headquarters.”

  The operations officer shrugged
. “Sir, we have no other guidance at this time. TDF Command echelons are still at least an hour out at their maximum c. I have drop requests from multiple bays, Admiral.”

  Like a bunch of dumb rabid dogs, Nather thought. “We don’t even know what we’re fighting! They have no intel, no information. We’re supposed to drop them blind?” Nather fumed for a moment as his mind raced. I don’t like this one bit. If we drop them blind, they’re either going to be isolated from other units or we might just drop them right into the proverbial hornets’ nest. Even a piss poor plan would be better than this! He brought a hand to his face and cupped his chin with the flesh between his index finger and thumb. There had to be a way around this with some type of intelligence. “Are we scanning the planet from all available optics on station?”

  “We have nothing on any shared intelligence nets, sir. Right now we’re operating under the assumption we’re going to be the first platform on the scene. Best case scenario is that we’ll have our scans and the scans from at least one other platform group in ten minutes,” the operations officer replied.

  “What’s your name again, son?” Nather asked.

  “Porterman, sir. Peter Porterman.”

  Nather nodded, wanting to say something thoughtful. “Give me everything you have when you have it, is that clear?”

  “Clear, sir.”

  Another voice chimed out. “Foldspace termination in five seconds. Three seconds! Now!”

  Everything vibrated and Nather bit back a touch of bile in his throat. “Up screens.”

  Libretto appeared in its Earth-like splendour. The disc of blue and white was seemingly on fire in a dozen places he could see. White plumes of smoke stretched for thousands of miles, like a child’s marker across the surface of the planet. He heard the gasps from the bridge crew but ground his teeth together instead of mouthing the horror he felt. Nather snapped. “Time to TDF arrival.”

  “Fifty-eight minutes, sir,” Porterman said. “We’re getting repeated calls for drop from TDF commanders, sir. Bays one through eight and bay ten all reporting ready for immediate drop.”

  Nather snapped his head to Porterman. “Who’s in Bay Nine? Why isn’t it ready?”

  Porterman consulted his screen. “Sir, I’m showing it as Third Tank Regiment’s cavalry troop. I have a door malfunction alarm on the lead Rhino.”

  “I see.” Nather looked across the bridge to his Commander Air Group. Garrett didn’t smile, but he didn’t have to. They held each other’s eye contact for a long second. I hope you know what you’re doing, Don. “Status of aircrews?”

  “Sir, all combat air patrols are away. I have recon birds outbound in one minute on polar trajectories. Should have some farside intelligence in sixteen or seventeen minutes,” Garrett reported without moving from his console. “All combat squadrons standing by, Admiral.”

  Nather looked back at Libretto and quietly sighed. I hope to God this works. “Drop all bays but bay nine. I want a full status on that bay in two minutes. Relay that status to combat commanders. Drop officer, you have the conn.”

  The heavy drop bays fell open, and slowly the combat vehicles of the Ticonderoga fell towards the dayside of Libretto in a slow-motion ballet. On the grand scale, there was little sense of motion, despite knowing that everything falling toward the planet was moving laterally across the planet’s surface at four and a half miles per second.

  Nather watched the ballet, grateful that all of the troops dropping from orbit were strapped into vehicles and not in the godawful Heinlein Tube contraptions. A lone human falling through the atmosphere was insane. Dropping from a platform in a vehicle was sane compared to leaping nearly unprotected out of an orbiting spacecraft. It takes all kinds, Nather thought before looking back into the bridge.

  “Helm, you have the conn,” the Drop Officer said. “Drop complete on bays one through eight and bay ten.”

  Nather looked at Garrett. “CAG, report?”

  “Sir, all bays are clear except for bay nine. All drops have PNT and comms at the present time.” Position, Navigation, and Timing coordinated from space, courtesy of a few quickly deployed satellites, provided continuous signal updates from the navigation consoles aboard the Ticonderoga, and her rapidly approaching sisters gave every single vehicle in the command an exceptionally precise ground location. Direct laser connections between combat vehicles would be dicey depending on the terrain, but their uplinks to the Ticonderoga and the TDF command vehicles were clear and unobstructed almost all the time.

  “Any reports of jamming?” Nather looked at Garrett and motioned him over.

  “Nothing at the present time, sir. We’ll see what happens when those units hit the ground.”

  Nather stood and looked up slightly into Garrett’s eyes. “What do you have up your sleeve, Don?”

  Garrett’s eyes flashed as he pulled up a global projection of Libretto. “We’re dropping units along our orbital plane, sir. Most of these units will end up in the temperate zone of the planet, based on their current trajectories. The late bays will fall about two hundred fifty kilometers to the west of Libretto City. Most of those units will face little resistance. My intent is to drop the cavalry troop much closer to Libretto City with significant air cover and develop the battlefield situation. We know there are large encampments of Grey vehicles about one hundred kilometers from Libretto City to the northwest and southeast. My bet is that they’ve put those vehicles out there to see what we do on the ground. There’s little to no air exospheric activity being reported at the present time. I’m betting they’re luring us in to determine what we’re going to defend.”

  “And then attack what they think we’re defending.” Nather finished. “How long can you let the TDF think they’ve got no regimental cavalry?”

  “About another three minutes, sir. TDF policy is that if a unit cannot drop within three minutes of its immediate commander, the nearest commander to the dropped unit retains responsibility. In that case, it will be me.”

  “How close will Coffey end up being to the cavalry? Is he one of those nearer units?”

  Garrett nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s another reason to drop Captain Shields in that gap between the Third Tank Regiment and Libretto City.”

  Nather took a deep breath. “I’m really taking a significant risk, Don.”

  “We all are, sir. I’m holding back Major Richards and the Fifty-Third squadron along with those newbies, the Seventy-Seventh, in support of this. If we’re right, we might give our forces a way to better combat the Greys.”

  Nather nodded. “Drop the cavalry, but keep them in orbit until you’ve got the intelligence to drop them in the place they’ll make the most significant impact.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” Garrett said and looked back at his staff. “When the bay door clears, drop those Rhinos. Launch the Alert Fifteen fighters now and have them take up a position about thirty nautical miles to the East. We’re not going into the nightside without fighters up and fangs out.”

  * * * * *

  Fifty-Four

  Colonel Bob Coffey held the crew handles inside the Intimidator Command Track, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and stare at a small dot on his hatch ring. Closing his eyes, the manual said, would make the inherent feeling of vertigo worse than those typically experienced in a combat drop from orbit. So far, he’d managed not to throw up, a fact that Coffey knew his gunner must appreciate. There was no place to avoid being vomited on. Coffey toggled his status screen and saw a blinking communication from the Ticonderoga. From the Admiral himself. He smiled. Finally talking to the right people. He chinned the frequency in his command helmet. “Eagle Six, this is Bullet Six. You have traffic for me, over?”

  “Bullet Six, affirmative. Maintenance issues prevented Bay Nine from dropping with you. You are still go for combat operations. Recalibrate your command status updates accordingly. Acknowledge.”

  Coffey looked at the drop status screen and grinned. Best news I’ve had in six months! “Eagle Six, ackno
wledged. Confirm I am at ninety percent strength and recalibrated. Push command of that unit to the closest available, over.”

  “Bullet Six, this is Eagle Six. Good copy and good hunting. Out.”

  Yes! Coffey grinned and thumped his knee in happiness. He chinned over to the regimental frequency. “Bullet Nine, this is Bullet Six. Private Two, over.”

  A couple of seconds later he heard Trevayne in his ear. “Six, this is Nine over.”

  “We’re short a unit. Drop that cavalry troop off your screens.”

  “Sir? What happened?”

  Coffey gushed like a child. “They didn’t drop! Some kind of maintenance issue. So they aren’t our problem this time around. Best damned news I’ve had in six months!”

  “Sir, without the cavalry troop, we’re going to be blind.”

  “Nah,” he fumbled in the leg pocket of his coveralls. “Push out one of the armor platoons as the lead element. They’ll do as good a job, if not better.” Curling his fingers around the flask, he brought the specially converted mouth to his helmet, plugged it in, and drank deeply. The whiskey burned just a little, like the first shots always did. Hell, this was a celebration! He took another deep swallow before disconnecting the flask and returning it to his pocket.

  “Sir, which platoon?”

  Goddamnit! “Come on, Sergeant Major! Make a goddamned decision for once! Just pick a goddamn platoon!”

  “Roger,” Trevayne replied. He didn’t say anything more, and the connection terminated.

  The Intimidator dropped out of the high cloud cover revealing the immense presence of the Libretto City dome receding to the east. Coffey punched a few buttons on the screen to identify the likely landing zone of his units. A thin, red targeting ellipse settled across a digitized map of the planet below. In the center of the projected landing zone was a long, thin lake surrounded by several good-sized hills. He connected to the interface on his private channel.